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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346333">Hungry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryarcana/pseuds/strawberryarcana'>strawberryarcana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Arcana (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:21:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryarcana/pseuds/strawberryarcana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[cw for mentions of disordered eating and general mental health suckiness, also The Girl With All The Gifts is mentioned so warning for mentions of zombies] (First person but gender neutral apprentice) I am not having a very good week, so I'm writing this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana), Muriel (The Arcana)/Reader, Muriel (The Arcana)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hungry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I will make no apologies of how aggressively southern some of these turns of phrases get. No, I don't know how TGWATG would fit into the Arcana universe, and I don't care. The ending sucks, but I have to end it somehow.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Why do I always pick the worst times to have my mental breakdowns? </p><p>I sat on the floor of the small apartment above the shop, wrapped in my softest blanket. I hadn't opened the shop in days, hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten in days. Asra was off on some adventure somewhere, and I was here. And so goddamn hungry. It wasn't like I didn't have anything to eat, nor was it like I felt I didn't deserve to. I just felt absolutely disgusted by the very sight of food, much less its smell. </p><p>I was broken from the beginnings of my spiral by a gentle but firm knocking at the door. I sit there for a good minute, hoping whoever it was would just go away. They don't. Instead, a familiar voice calls out tentatively. </p><p>"Hello? Is anyone there?" It's Muriel. I sigh deeply and raise myself to my feet, not letting go of the blanket. It's not like I don't want to see him, in fact I desperately do. But I'm so exhausted, and so hungry, and cold and hurt and- and I'm down the stairs and unlocking the door. Muriel sighs audibly and relaxes when he sees me. "I was about to be worried, I haven't seen you in days." I hum quietly and move to let him in, already walking up the stairs, Muriel following. "Is everything okay?" I hum again. I don't even have to look at him to know the look on his face, brows knitted and frowning so hard it's practically a scowl. </p><p>When we reach the top of the stairs, I simply flop myself into a pile of clothes on what used to be a very soft chair. My mouth feels dry and my head feels foggy as I manage to get out a gruff "Make yourself at home." Muriel's signature worried frown grows deeper as I speak for the first time in who knows how long. </p><p>"You're not okay." I frown at that, not wanting him to worry, but not strong enough to pretend to be fine. I shake my head and hum. Has my voice always been so light? Muriel looks wholly unconvinced and moves to the kitchen. I don't know what he's doing, and I don't suppose I rightly care, and he returns quickly with two glasses of water and a few pieces of fruit. I must make quite a face at the apple he places in my hand, because his voice grows stern. "You have to tell me what's wrong for me to help you. I'm not like you, I can't sense what people need." The noise I make is halfway between a scoff and a hum. Muriel looks at me pleadingly, before settling down in the floor. Oh gods. He's going to do that thing that I do, where I sit back and give him space and wait for him to find the words he needs. I don't know who to curse at, him or me.</p><p>I can't track time well, but it must be at least a minute before I drag the words from my chest. "Bad day... bad week." He frowns, and I wonder how long it'll be 'til he asks me the last time I ate. I don't think I'd be able to tell him. But he just sits there, the patience that usually calms me down now frustrating me to no end. "Hungry. Can't sleep. You know." He nods wisely. It's something he's gone through before, goes through often. He grabs the hand that's holding my glass, encouraging me to take a sip. I do so, slightly less disgusted at water than food. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was, and a bit of the fogginess in my head goes away as I begin to drain the cup. </p><p>We both know the plan of action for this, or rather the plan of inaction. It's simple really, second nature to me from all the times I've comforted Muriel in his own depressive episodes. I would always just stay by him, gently remind him every so often to eat or drink or relieve himself, and wait for it to pass. Muriel stands up and takes off his cloak, and I can tell that I've just damned myself to a few days of being comforted when I just want to be alone, being fed when I just want to be hungry, and being made to drink the world's least enjoyable sleeping draught. No shade to Muriel, but the man can't cook to save his life.</p><p>Perhaps he's trying to get me to do something I like, because he's already off to the small kitchen, offering up all kinds of suggestions of food he could make for me. He gets what he wants, too, because I'd die before I let him make me any more eggs. I don't sing as I cook like I usually do, just grimace at the smells floating up from the pan. It's nothing crazy, just some eggs and toast. Despite the simplicity, Muriel looks totally entranced by the way I season the eggs. </p><p>We eat quietly, at the tiny kitchen table. I've got half a mind to slide my plate over to Muriel when he eagerly finishes his own. No matter how many times I cook for him, that man always seems absolutely enthralled by the concept of garlic. But I try my best, and get three whole bites down before my stomach sours. I leave my plate on the table so I can come back for it.</p><p>"So, what would you like to do now?" he stretches a little. I hum, not in response this time but in thinking. I hadn't really done much the past few days but sit and worry. "Read any good books? What about that one with the girl and the fungus and all?" He's got me now, clever bastard, talking to me about my favorite book.</p><p>"I haven't actually made much progress, but right now I'm at the part right after the zombie with the baby carriage. The play really did that scene dirty, honestly they did the whole book dirty. They absolutely robbed us of the doctor's whole character. And the scene with the singing zombie? How the hell could they cut that out? I'm still reeling, trying to figure out the implications of that." Muriel is grinning as he listens to me talk, nodding his head and encouraging me to go on, delighted that he's got me talking. </p><p>I keep talking intermittently as Muriel cleans up the dishes and sets about that awful sleeping draught he makes. I'm mostly just instructing him on where to find certain herbs and critiquing the amounts he uses. By the time it's finished, I may as well be the one making it, and I haven't even realized that I've been tricked into talking, into doing something, into drinking the potion. It's less awful when I help. Muriel guides me to bed as the potion does its work, and makes a rather annoying effort to comfort me as I fall asleep.</p>
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